his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick:

The whoosh pushed John down, and as he fell, he turned to see the machine hulking over him, just meters away. “Shit!” he cried …

More'n that, neighbor Walton. You can't get a decent cow for thirty dollars. I hain't got one that isn't wuth more, though I've got ten in my barn.

Thy blazing hearths, / From deep sulphureous pits, consumeless stores / Of fuel boast.